


Blood Like Wine

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood, Can't put too many tags without ruining it all, Comments make me feel pretty ;), Death, ENJOY THIS STORY, Gore, I have a plan with this, Kudos makes me feel brilliant xD, LOVE YOU MY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, M/M, Slow Build, Triggers, Vampires, Violence, WIP, Will NOT be deleted, dark!fic, possible death, rape/noncon, vampire!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is an ancient vampire on a mission and he drags John along for the ride.</p><p>Things just seem to go from bad to worse for the pair and Sherlock will have a tough choice to make ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for you all folks. I will try and make the chapters a little longer than I normally would, but do not hold out. If my writing flows for a chapter then it may get lengthy. If not then ... It'll be as short as they are normally.
> 
> I hope this has more of an appeal than some of my fics.
> 
> I love comments and I'll try and get back to you on them.
> 
> I have no Beta and all the mistakes are my own!!
> 
> I do not own these characters. I own the plot and story line and because it is an AU then London (in this fic) will be different! 
> 
>  
> 
> Triggers will be in place so I will warn you now. Read at your own risk is all I am saying really. But I will mention when triggers are around. 
> 
> I think there's a happy ending ....

Prologue

  
It was a foggy day in the London city when they came to stay. You could hardly see your hand when it was stretched out in front of you. It was horrible, setting the mood of most of the civilians within the city’s walls. Maybe they brought it with them on purpose. Maybe they made it so they could be covered. Or just maybe, they used it as a cover anyway. That they just got lucky that day, when the fog covered London in its thick blanket.

  
For that was the day the Vampires came to town. Not that anyone took notice mind, it was thick with fog. But they came, they hid and they settled down. They drifted into the shadows, and then into the City Life themselves, becoming part of the people. They spread word of themselves of course; there was nothing more powerful than words. Vampires then became a part of history, a legend, and then; a mythical creature; a deadly, terrifying, blood sucking, human humping, meat eating, prince of darkness, mythical creature.

  
This is what made the sons of Holmes laugh. Well, on the inside anyway. Not that they would ever, ever show it really. They never showed outward emotion, they just stayed in the shadows and watched. They became part of the life they surrounded themselves with. Both Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes came to be a part of the London City that they have breathed in and have grown to love over the centuries. They would never tell; or they thought they would never tell, why they came to be in the first place.

Yes they came in with the fog. They hid among it that dull, unseeing day and they lived among humans for centuries. But that day, that day as London was being built, they came from another dimension. A dimension that had fallen behind them. A dimension that had burnt to a crisp. They were a couple of the lucky few that had made it out. Them; and a two more. There was only four of their kind left, and it was the other two the brothers had a fascination with. And not of the good kind. They had vengeance in their hearts and anger in their veins. The two brothers seeked out the other two of their kind and once they are found, heads will roll. Or so the saying goes. Basically, Sherlock and Mycroft wanted blood.

As the years went by, their anger swelled but they held onto it and they waited. These two could wait over a thousand years. And they will. Centuries came and went; blood was never in short supply. As London grew, the technology of the humans grew; with a little help from the brothers of course, and blood banks came into force. So the boys didn't have to bleed off the inhabitants. Despite the rumours, the legends and the myths, Sherlock and Mycroft were from a peaceful race. In their world, they lived in harmony among their food source. They never killed and they never really wanted sexual satisfaction.

They just wanted to ensure that they were sustained well enough; human food could only keep them going for so long after all. The blood, to them, right from the source was a treat. From a blood bank was a necessity.

And that’s how it was for a few thousand years. No one knew, no one even thought. And their vision of revenge never appeared. It seemed that their targets had gone underground. Gone but never, ever, forgotten.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

  
John had never felt so lost before in his life. He was awash with depression, guilt at not being good enough, and just completely broken. He was so broken his mind had fucked up on him. Fucked up on him so much so that he now has a psychosomatic limp. He’s a fucking doctor. He does not need his therapist to tell him that the pain in his leg is all in his mind. He knew that but that did not mean that the pain was real. It was. He had the fucking cane to prove it. So what if he was shot in the left shoulder!? It was his leg that suffered and he knew why. He remembered it very vividly in his dreams. Or rather, his nightmares.

  
_He was running across the desert. Running to his fallen friend, his Brother In Arms. The sand thick at his feet, painted a dark red as his solder bled out beneath him. He saw the leg. It was torn at the thigh. There was nothing he could do on the field other than try to stop the bleeding. It was then that he felt a piercing through his shoulder. A through and through, the bullet finding home in friend’s head. He was so focused on the leg, the pain in his shoulder and the life leaving his friends eyes that the pain became his own. Shoulder and leg. He had argued, thrashed and screamed during his hospital stay. He was adamant that his leg was a mess. Coping mechanism, they told him._

  
When his friend had fallen and the scene becomes dark, John would wake up screaming, thrashing and sometimes even crying. He knew it wasn’t real, he pain in his leg, but those nights it would flare up and become so painful he felt like ripping the bastard thing off and be done with it.

Even that night, the darkest night of his life, the night he felt so low in himself that he wanted to die, the pain became so bad he had to stop in his walking. The cane wouldn’t help him and he struggled to keep up right. It was then that he turned to face a soft noise in the ally way in which he had rested at the opening of. He had heard something. What he saw wouldn’t register. A tall figure, leaning against that of a smaller figure, his mouth at the neck. At first John thought he had come across two lovers, until he saw something drip in the moonlight. John was so sure that the tall shadow figure was drinking from the smaller one. His mind had made it so. It was as clear as he could see the full moon.

But then again, kit couldn’t be happening. He was a broken man, his mind fixating on anything and turning it into a nightmare. Once the pain had subsided, John went on his way again, limping and stumbling back to his plain and boring bedsit. But he couldn’t get the image out of his head, he really couldn’t. He stayed awake all night, that night, researching vampire folk lore, gaining everything he could about the mythical creatures. They seemed demonic people; killing, raping, even making someone admire them. It was a little farfetched and so out of John’s comfort zone, but he was hooked. That night John forgot about his leg, forgot about his nightmares, and dreamed from chasing vampires on the sliver deserts.

\---

 

Sherlock returned home from his midnight treat, after ensuring the smaller man would be alright. He had indulged and it had tasted so good. He had been so lost in the moment that he did not notice the cripple watching him in the moonlight. Not until it was too late. He saw the cripple straighten slightly as he watch, he saw how the leg had been forgotten in that moment and he watched the cripple limp away.

The image of this man was burned into Sherlock’s mind and he made it his new addiction. To find this small cripple and fix him. He smelt of war, he smelt of battle and the blood he had heard sounded like a beautiful sonnet to his ears. The cripple was a mystery, he could only gain so much in the moonlight. But he wanted so much more.  
As he was walking up the stairs to his flat, so lost in the enigma that was the cripple, he refused to register his brother’s presence. That was until it was too late. Sherlock entered the flat at Baker Street and growled upon finding his brother in his favourite chair.

“Indulging again brother mine?” Mycroft asked in that slow, posh and smug tone he had adapted over the years. “You cannot keep doing this every night. You will be caught and our objective will fail.” This was hissed at Sherlock, Mycroft’s eyes turning dark. “I will not have you jeopardise thousands of years work!”

“Silence Mycroft! I do not have time for you now!” Sherlock huffed, moving away from the living room and towards his bedroom. “I have someone to find. Please close the door on your way out!” Sherlock growled and slammed his bedroom door as soon as he entered it, effectively cutting off any and all of his brother’s ranting. For now anyway. Sherlock knew this would not be the end of it, but still, he was riding the indulgence and he was not about to let Mycroft ruin that.

Sherlock knew he was indulging too often, but the taste of fresh blood was just too good to miss. But now, now he had the image of the cripple, the smell of his adrenaline and the sound of his blood. Now Sherlock had a new objective and a one he will work on in the morning.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

  
After a night of restless sleep and vampires invading his dreams, John woke up in a foul mood the next morning. His leg was flaring up again and his shoulder was extremely stiff. He hated these mornings, even as the sun shorn outside and the birds sang happily near his window, John felt down and miserable. It should be thundering outside if the weather would compliment his mood.

He arose and went through the morning routine. He showered, shaved and cleaned his teeth. He dressed as carefully as he could manage and then cleaned his gun. It was then that his decision was made. No longer will he inflict his miserable existence upon the world. Well, first he wanted to walk around London. One last time. Say goodbye as it were. So that’s what he did, after he loaded his hand gun and then returned it to its home, for the time being. He grabbed his jacket and hobbled out into the streets, walking slowly and taking more in than he usually would.

 ---

 

Sherlock went to his lab at Barts that day; he wanted to test the effects of certain blood groups on his own. At that moment he was checking over how an addict’s blood would affect his own, when an old colleague of his, Mike entered. He had planned this down to the very last detail. From what he saw in the strange cripple the night before, he hazards a guess that he would have been trained at Barts in the medical profession. It was clear in the way he held himself when he saw someone getting hurt. Then he had left of course, probably thought that he was seeing things. But still, that first instinct to help and save suggested medical profession. And in London ... Well it was a stretch but it might work.

“Mike.” Sherlock acknowledged. “I may not be around much in the next few months. Rent is due and I cannot afford the flat on my own lodgings.” Sherlock explained, a little too kindly but this was Mike. He would not click on. Not quite anyway.

“Why don’t you find a flat mate then? Share the rent?” Mike suggested as he fidgeted along the work bench. Mike was one of the few humans who knew of Sherlock’s secret. That and the young pathologist woman up stairs, which he needed in a moment, but right then, Mike was important.

“Come on Mike,” Sherlock drawled, looking up for a brief moment and flashed his fangs. It was enough to make Mike flinch. “Who would want a consulting vampire as a flat mate?” He returned to his blood work, holding out a hand for the vials he knew Mike had brought with him.  
“Maybe leave out the vampire part yeah?” Mike spoke softly, handing the wanting vials over. “Advertise or something, I don’t know. I’m off on my lunch break. Molly said to tell you the stiff is waiting.” With that Mike had left.

That’s why Sherlock preferred Mike. He was a no nonsense human. Didn’t idle with small talk around him and didn’t act all swoony and pathetic, like some humans. Speaking of which, he had to go up face one of those said humans just then. But, this one was actually beneficial to him, so he would just have to put up with her swooning and fluttering. He needed to whip a body with his crop.

 ---

 

John was walking in the park when he heard his name being called. At first he ignored it. He couldn’t be bothered to face anyone he knew, not that day, not with his plans. But the mention of his second name had him stall for a moment, and with a sigh he turned to face someone who was vaguely familiar.

“It’s Mike. Mike Stamford.” Was the introduction. It rang a few bells in his mind, and he did eventually agree for coffee.

It was awkward, this moment. He knew what he was going to do, and here he was with an old school friend, chit chatting about lodgings.

  
“You could always get a flat share?” Mike offered up with a slight grin. Good old Mike, always the one to try and keep everyone together. John would miss him.

“Come on. Who’d want me as a flat mate?” John replied, thinking about how broken he was and how much he wanted everything to just end. His hand had begun to shake and he curled it into a fist against his knee.

“You know, you’re not the first one to say that to me today.” Mike looked positively gleeful at this and John’s interest was piqued.

“Who was the first?”


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
 Sherlock made his way to the morgue after Mike had left him. Something about that day would change, he could feel it in his old bones. He just couldn’t quite figure out if this is going to be a good thing or a bad thing, either way, change was on the horizon. Sherlock made his way into the morgue, so lost in his own mind that he ignored Molly for the most part, only interacted with her when he needed to. He knew that this certain experiment with ease some of his frustrations but also it would be enough to get the young female human all flustered, and her blood would thump all that faster. 

  
 “How fresh?” He had asked calmly, ensuring to keep everything about the work. Humming and harring to her useless chatter. “I’ll start with the riding crop.” he stated as calmly as any normal individual would talk about the useless weather. That did get her blood flowing, he could hear it and it was quite distracting. He had bit her once, a long time ago. She tasted too sweet for him. But since that moment, this Molly girl would always have a racing pulse near him. He understood human emotions, he just didn’t see the need for them.

  
  
 “Bad day was it?” He heard Molly ask. He didn’t have time for her poor attempts at gaining his attention. Something interesting was about to happen any moment. He could feel it. 

  
 “I need to know what bruises will form. A man’s alibi depends upon it.” He was about to rush out before Molly had suddenly sputtered out about coffee. Sherlock obviously knew what she meant but he answered logically in the way he would normally. It was kinder wasn’t it? To try and show her that he is uncaring and just not right for her, no matter how much lip stick she uses, or hoe she changes her hair. Sherlock had the urge to growl at her; no one should change appearances for someone who is obviously not interested. But Molly would not be deterred. In that sense, but it was also a good thing as well as annoying. She would be useful to him sometimes. 

  
 Sherlock returned to the lab, just as a smell hit his nose as his face was fixed upon his experiment that he had left behind earlier. That smell … That sound of the heart. There is less adrenaline and something a lot more sour and .. It didn’t fit right. It was his cripple, of course. That was obvious. Sherlock could smell the battle, the need for danger and adrenaline, the tea and now … not adrenaline no. But something bitter, something sour and something he would not have on this strange man who had captured his attention in one moment.

  
  
 The thing with Sherlock is that he can smell humans from a few meters away. He can catagorise what they are feeling and how they may taste just by their smell. He understood a long while ago that human’s emotions would deter the smell of them, change them for better; or in this case, for worse. Sherlock understood the smell of depression and hopelessness. He knew the smell of a human that has given up on life. He had smelt it in enough junkies and enough people to understand that he did not like it in his cripple. His cripple? When had he became his cripple? He did not have long to reflect upon that as the door to the lab had opened just then and both Mike, and the cripple had entered. 

  
***

  
 John had walked with mike for the hell of it. He saw no harm in it, after all, if John was to say goodbye to London and to his life, he might as well visit the hospital were he had gained his qualifications. Plus Mike had mentioned a friend of his looking for a flat mate. What harm could there be in checking out this so called friend? If nothing came out about it, there was the end of his gun to welcome him home. John was resigned to the fact that his life had already ended when he was dumped back home. 

  
 Opening the door to the lab in which he and Mike had spent many teenaged years, fighting for grades and attention from other class mates, John was a little thrown back by the technology that now existed in this place. “A bit different from my day.” He had muttered before his eyes fell against a lean man, crouching against a microscope, looking lost in something. John could not quite figure it out, but the man before him looked slightly familiar.  The man that had John’s attention was leaning over a microscope the moment John had fixated on him. He only just registered that Mike had refused the stranger a phone when John offered his own. He didn’t quite understand why, but he allowed the strange man to take his phone. Then the impossible happened. 

  
 “Afghanistan or Iraq?” The stranger asked, catching John off guard. He instantly stood to attention, straightening his back and getting ready to strike if he needed to. 

  
 “I’m sorry, what?” John asked, slightly in awe of the tall and very pale man before him. He felt pissed that the stranger had the nerve to pretend that he didn’t know, surely Mike had told him? But then again … When would mike have had the chance to? John was with him since he had mentioned the man looking for a flat mate. This couldn’t be him. Could it?

  
 “Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?” The stranger repeated, the gaze he had upon John pinned him in place. That figure in the dark ally way crept into John’s mind just then, but he had to shake it away, just as a young woman entered.

  
 “Afghanistan. How did you …?” John never finished. The tall, pale, skinny git had interrupted him. Then he went on speaking about violins and flat mates as the younger woman had left. John couldn’t believe it. He was confused, he was … John didn’t know what was happening, but something was.

  
  
 “I’m sorry, but who said anything about being flat mates?” John was getting edgy, frustrated, but by god, the adrenaline was pumping fast.

  
  
 “I did. Just this morning I told Mike that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. And here he is with an old friend just out of military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t a difficult leap.” The pale git replied, putting on a long cape like coat. If John was in the right mind, maybe the word Vampire would not be flashing in his mind. But as it was, John was lost, confused and in complete awe of the man who was about to leave.

  
  
 “How did you know about Afghanistan?” John asked, trying to calm himself.

  
  
 “I’ve got my eye on a nice little flat in the center of London, together we should be able to afford it. We‘ll meet there tomorrow evening, around seven?” This man was about to leave it at that. John had suddenly had enough.

  
  
 “Is that it!?” He almost hissed, glad that the tall bloke paused in his tracks. “We’ve only just met and we are going to look at a flat together. I know nothing about you. I don’t know where we are meeting. I don’t even know your name!” John finally got out and took a deep breath to calm himself down before he punched the pale idiot.

  
 “I know that you are an army doctor, recently invalided home from active duty. I know you have a brother who is worried about you but you won’t go to him for help. Possibly because you disapprove of his drinking, but more likely because he walked out on his wife. I also know you have a therapist who thinks your link is psychosomatic; quite correctly I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going  on with, don’t you think.” The man left, before entering in once again. “Oh and the address is 221 B Baker street. The name ..” Here he paused for a second and John raised an eye brow, still reeling from the facts the man had spouted a second earlier. “… Is Sherlock Holmes. Afternoon.” He winked! He fucking winked before he left John in a stunned silence. Well … At least John would live another day. There was no way he was going to avoid missing out on actually seeing how the craziness that was Sherlock Holmes lived. After researching of course.

  
  
 John left Mike with the promise to call him and keep in touch, and all that palaver. John had given himself a mission.  He will research that Sherlock man, see what is going on, take a look around the flat that was offered. What is the worst that could happen?


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates should be Sundays and Tuesdays. And because I missed yesterdays ... Here it is my lovelies

Chapter 4

 

 

Sherlock left the hospital, with his riding-crop secured beneath his long coat and a smug grin on his face. He avoided transport and felt like he can walk back to the flat he was about to share with John; for they will flat share, even if Sherlock had to bribe the damn man into it. He could sense stubbiness, he could sense the need for danger, he could smell it in John’s blood for crying out bloody loud; pardon the pun. It was beautiful, it was wonderful, it was actually something he would never thought he would experience ever again; the urge to make John, a human, like him, want to be around him, cope with him. The last time he had felt like that was at home, with ... NO! His brain yelled at him, the chest of plywood, wrapped in chains and locked in the basement of Sherlock mind palace and began to seep with blood. Slowly, Sherlock forced the memory closed, sealed the vault and locked the basement. He cannot touch that chest. Not now. Probably never in his long existence, will he ever open that chest.

 

 

Sherlock’s mind had shifted so much, the smug grin had turned into a frown and he was concentrating on closing the basement that he did not focus on his smell. It wasn’t until it was too late when he noticed the smell of lavender and oil was drifting in the air, leading towards the entrance of a hidden alleyway. His head snapped towards it and he let out a snarl so dangerous, that even the Earth showed its sympathy in a slight breeze that had came from nowhere and led nowhere. Sherlock was late, even as he drifted to the opening of where the smell had came from. He stood there; sniffing, snarling, his eyes suddenly blazing red and he pulled his mobile from his pocket. He hit his speed dial and snapped one word into his phone before shutting it off and storming down the street.

 

 

“Moran!”

 

 

This could only mean one thing. The game was about to begin, and the brother’s had waited long enough. They must begin their planning, for this could be a long game.

 

 

***

 

 

Mycroft heard the growl as soon as he answered the phone. He didn’t answer with his own; he didn’t actually have time to. But in all honesty, Mycroft was more controlled in this situation. Yes, Mycroft had lost so much from Home after the initial war ... But not as much as Sherlock. And Sherlock, no matter how many times he denies it, was a sentimental fool. He cannot control his emotions and therefore he closes them off and locks them away. Anything that happens, anything that hits close to home, has Sherlock in a rage.

 

 

Mycroft press the button on his intercom, “Anthea my dear,” he spoke gently into the speaker. If he could trust anyone, it his ever name changing human assistant. He would change her if he could trust himself enough to do it. But even he knew that something like that were intimate and only used in dire circumstances. If there was no heart in it, no concentration and desperation that comes with saving a loved one, then that sort of change can go drastically wrong. And Mycroft knew that Anthea was not exactly his type. “Sherlock will need picking up. Discreetly of course. You should go; he is in a foul mood of sorts.”

 

 

Anthea gave the affirmative and was away just as Mycroft lifted himself out of his chair. He went to his drinks cabinet in his government office and pulled down the expensive whiskey. As he heard a tell-tail tred outside his office, he pulled out another glass and returned to his desk. Just in time as well, Lestrade was huffing and puffing through the office, not looking too happy at being picked up at all.

 

 

“I have told you before _Mr Holmes_...” Greg hissed the name like poison. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you are ... You do not pick me up half way through a press conference about a high fucking profile case!” Greg was fuming. Literally fuming. His face was going red and he began pointing towards Mycroft’s chest. It was quite ... Weird to be honest. Mycroft should have snapped at him, should have felt outraged at being talked down to by a human like this. But no. Mycroft was ... Interested. “How many men did you fucking need!? Five! Five men in suits to pull me out of a media conference!? People are going missing right off of the streets, and you are sending minions to fetch me!? The press are going to have a fun enough time as it is, they didn’t need the speculation of government officials kidnapping the DI on the fucking case!” Greg had been jabbing his finger at Mycroft in a rage, pacing and turning in certain points and all Mycroft could do was offer the officer a drink. It intrigued him.

 

 

“I am sorry for any inconvenience Gregory, but this is necessary for your case as well as mine and my brother’s. Yes, he is on his way here and you may need to sit and nurse what is soon to be a dreadful headache. Unfortunately, my brother is in as bad of a mood as you are.” Mycroft watched as the officer downed the whiskey in the glass and went to pour another. His face had been pulled down into a deeper frown at the mention of an upset Sherlock.

 

 

“Great, just what I fucking need right now.” Gregory muttered into his glass and actually sipped at the liquid inside, just as Sherlock came slamming in through the door of Mycroft’s office, glaring at Mycroft before slumping down opposite him in defeat.

 

 

“I missed her. The one chance I had and I missed it.” Sherlock hissed through pointed teeth, suddenly not caring anymore. His eyes were still glowing red, glaring death into the wall behind Mycroft. If that glare was at Mycroft’s attention, he was sure he would be turned into ash. Even poor Gregory was turning rather pale.

 

 

“Brother mine, there will be another chance to grab her. As for now ... There is the matter of these missing persons to discuss. As I am sure you know why.” Mycroft tried to get Sherlock’s head into the game. It worked somewhat, but the reddish glow to his eyes remained, even after the pointed teeth were gone.

 

 

“Of course I know what is going on. Somewhat anyway. Lavender and Jim have been taking people off of the street. sometimes in broad daylight. Sometimes at night, there is no pattern. There is no logical connection. It makes no sense. They are not all found tortured and drained, only a handful. Enough to have the people believe all the missing people to be dead. Jim and lavender are up to something and we need to find out what. And fast.” Sherlock muttered the anger and hatred in his tone still. Even after so many years, Sherlock had never forgotten, nor had he let go. Mycroft does not blame the younger Holmes, but he had taught him how to cope. It seems that in the office that day, the walls Sherlock had built were crashing around his ears. Mycroft had started to hope that the invalided human Sherlock had met in the lab earlier that day may be enough to get Sherlock back on track. A focused Sherlock was a brilliant Sherlock. And **that** was their best weapon.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---COULD BE POSSIBLE TRIGGERS HERE SO TREAD CAREFULLY---

Chapter 5

 

 

Sherlock left his brother’s office, still feeling angry ... No ... Beyond angry, but his teeth had sheathed themselves and the reddish glow has dimmed down to his natural eye colour. Whatever that colour may be this night. It changes rapidly, a very rare thing among humans and vampires alike. With a deep sigh, Sherlock hurried to the flat he is leaving, just to settle for one more night. One more night and then a new chapter will begin. Sherlock hope that he would keep this in mind before his emotions took over his dreams as he stripped off his suit. Being all emotional, even if it is just blood raged and completely furious, it was still enough to drain him, and for the first time in three days, Sherlock fell asleep and drifted into the past.

 

 

***

 

 

_The day had started like any other summer day in their London. They had just run down an organisation of blood thirsty monsters. The doors to that universe had closed a couple of days ago, but it did leave multiple bodies of their kind littering the streets. Sherlock took a hold of Victor Trevor around the waist and pulled him close. The end of the chase always filled Sherlock with such emotion and he felt safe enough to let it all out around his Victor. Victor smiled; his normally brilliant white teeth were stained with dark brown blood of their monsters. The streets were safe and Sherlock was home with his Vampire. His one and only, and the sight of the blood covering the pearly whites, Sherlock groaned and attacked._

 

 

 

_Outside their windows, the sun shorn brighter; inside the lovers held together tighter. Sherlock was too late to notice the sound that destroyed his personal word in an instant. The whistle of a bullet leaving a gun, the shattering of glass and the sigh of a dying vampire. The bullet had traveled a distance and torn Victor’s heart apart as it entered. The casing was made with a burning silver, covering a drop of pure melted gold. The sure thing to kill them in an instant. Sherlock held his lover, his husband, the only being Sherlock had ever felt true emotions for in his arms, Sherlock held him as Victor died a painful death. No final words, no last kiss, no grip of the shirt. No nothing. By the time Sherlock had dropped them to the floor, Victor was dead. The heart within the young vampire had burned. It had been purely destroyed, and Sherlock knew who to blame._

 

 

 

_His world was covered with an emotion fuelled rage, Victor was left dying on the floor of their home and Sherlock was running out into the brilliant sunlight and following the path of the bullet at full speed. He knew who fired the gun, and he knew who ordered the shot. Lavender and Moriarty, the two monstrous vampires, intending on burning the world. They were intent on destroying universes, intent on watching everything turn to ash. It was a game to them, and now Sherlock was not playing. He had had enough and he will rip their hearts out himself using his bare hands._

 

 

 

_Only ... Sherlock didn’t go very far. Sherlock’s brother had turned up, his face pale and grabbing Sherlock to a standstill. There were no words, but the world had begun to shake and quiver around them. It was then that Sherlock heard the screams, felt the heat and ahead of him, saw that the world he loved, his people around him ... Everything was burning in a brilliant golden heat wave. Sherlock turned to his brother; his hand grabbed his brother’s arm and held on tight. They both resigned to the world ending, to them both disappearing with it ... Sherlock, for the first time in his vampire life, he saw the fear in his brother’s eyes and he also knew that the same sentiment would be reflected in his own._

 

 

 

 

_Then the door opened. Moran and Moriarty had opened another door and were through it in a flash and Sherlock followed quickly behind, ignoring his brother’s yelling. They both crashed through in time before the door closed and they came out on the other side. Fog filled world, so much like their own, so behind their time and they turned back to see nothing. Their world was burning, the screams had filled Mycroft’s mind but with Sherlock ... All Sherlock saw was the body of his beloved._

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Sherlock woke in a cold sweat, his breathing was hard and fast, his hands shaking. He couldn’t help the growl that escaped him just then. His body was betraying him again, he doesn’t do this. These are locked away in the basement, in the chest, covered in chains and padlocks and codes. Sherlock didn’t like what these memories did to him. He felt out of control, he felt ... Emotional. He didn’t like it. There was only one being to him that would ever make him feel like that and he was dead. Sherlock didn’t need the past, he didn’t. This is all that business with the missing humans and the sighting of Moran. It brought everything back. He couldn’t stand it.

 

 

 

Sherlock sighed, rubbed shaking hands over his face and pulled himself out of bed. A new day of a new chapter and he will not read back on others. He won’t do it, he told himself as he padded into the bathroom, stripping away the boxers as he went so he could wash away the dread, the sweat, the memories, of the night’ dreams. Sherlock made the water as hot as he could stand it, which for him was fairly hot. Almost too hot to handle for any human being, but it was perfect for him.

 

 

 

The water felt like a beautiful sin against his skin, washing away the dreams and dirt. His mind felt clearer now, sort of anyway, and he allowed himself to think of his invalid, who wasn’t really an invalid, but was interesting all the same. Sherlock imagined John limping towards the new flat and instantly began thinking about how best to impress him and then Sherlock had a thought. He turned off the shower, climbed out and moved for his phone without a towel. He didn’t care.

 

 

 

**Any new bodies on the missing persons case, you must then fetch me. Make sure it’s interesting though, such as notes and bashed in heads, something that makes it stand out from the others. –SH**

 

 

 

 

If there was anything out there, Lestrade would find it and bring it to his attention. If it meant that the case got solved quicker than normal then Lestrade would be sure to get Sherlock. He always did and this in turn would be sure to pipe John’s interest. Right?

 

 

 

 

Sherlock ignored the fact that he was desperate to make a good impression and feed to John’s need, he ignored the fact that this is the first time he tried to impress anyone since Victor and he also ignored the fact that the suit he had chosen was also one of his best cut and tight to his frame. He ignored all these and insisted to himself that the only reason he was doing this because John’s natural smell was sinful. Without it being smothered in doubt, pain, loss and depression, John smelled sinful and so damn good. Good enough that Sherlock will want a taste right from the source. But that was a new plan for a new day. Today was about getting John to stay at 221B baker Street with Sherlock as a flatmate.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A revamp (Pardon the pun XD) of 'Study in Pink'.  
> ALSO
> 
> AU on Sherlock's website okay? Yes? Good.
> 
> OH AND NOT FORGETTING;
> 
> A huge chunk of this has been taken from the show ... You'll see when it gets there ;)

Chapter 6

 

John had been up most of the night with his research. There was only one sight in regards to Sherlock Holmes, however, the sight was enough to take in as it was. It was very bland and boring, but only because everything was scientifically detailed, right down to the different types of ash. It was a scientist's dream website, but for those of the simple minds, such as John himself, it can get rather boring. But he can't complain. The Science Of Deduction. It was more than that though, that website. Not only did it give a break down of how many ashes there can be and their uses, but the site also boasted that Sherlock could tell the employment of someone by their thumb or tie. If John had not seen that for himself he would have laughed out loud and proclaimed that Sherlock was a fraud. The website also showed how medicine had changed throughout the centuries, giving explicit details on each medication and why it was used, and how idiotic it had been and what would have been better back in that time. John did get into that part of the sight, however it was detailed ... Very detailed and John seemed to lose interest in that part and went to check out the forum part of the sight.

 

 Now John could see the rudeness within Sherlock just by reading his replies to some of the requests. Most of the time he just replied with boring to some of the problems and others, he just answered without an explanation. Well, at first any way. Once the person with the problem had persisted long enough for an explanation, Sherlock replied with the most scathing and unsympathetic answers a man could come up with. Just reading this John understood Sherlock could be difficult to live with but it couldn't be any worse than the bedsit really. After-all, if it was any worse, John could always end it. His life that is.

 

When John noticed that dawn had broken, he stretched and groaned, moving to grab a cuppa and some snack of some sort. He still had the rest of the day to go before he was to meet the very tall, very pale, very handsome ... _Wait! What!? ..._ John paused in his morning ritual and frowned. He knew wasn't exactly gay, but he wasn't exactly straight either. There wasn't very many men that turned his head, not since his days in the army.  _Now there's a thought._ John's brain supplied., sinking the small man deeper into the depression. He missed those days, he really did. The adrenaline fueled missions, the laughter on a calmer night and the companion of his Brother's in Arms. With a sigh John slumped back on the mattress, set his alarm for later on in the afternoon and closed his eyes. He wasn't exactly tired but there was nothing else for him to do.

 

***

 

 John made his way to Baker Street, refusing to get a cab there, he manged to limp from his bedsit to the flat in question. although, John was sure he was being followed and every time he checked behind him, he was sure that a shadow shifted out of sight. However, it was so fast John blames his exhaustion and the thoughts his mind had rested on as he drifted off earlier that morning. If john had looked longer, if John had concentrated more, if john had more of an opened mind, he may have seen what is was that kept tabs on him in the dark. He may have seen what it was that was suddenly so interested in the Army Doctor, invalid home. he may have just seen something from his nightmares. As it was, John did not stay around to look, he did not hang around to investigate ... What he did do was kept checking behind him with a frown and limped that little bit faster towards Baker Street.

 

John managed  to make his way onto Baker Street and took more care in looking for 221 than actually taking in his surroundings. He noticed a nice little building with 221 in golden letters stuck on the door, he also noticed that it was right next door to a cafe.  _Nice spot. Nothing too much ..._ John was about to knock when something caught his eye, just across the road from his new place. Maybe.  _But there was defiantly something there. Something hidden in the shadows. Something watching. What the Hell is that!?_  John frowned deeply and made a step forward, not even taking note of his leg. He didn't even realise how easy it was to slip back into his soldier mode. he was about to check out what had caught him off guard before he noticed Sherlock had turned up.

 

 "Ah, Mr Holmes." John offered out his hand out, looking over the taller man before flickering his eyes back to the ally-way across the road. Whatever it was, it was gone. John noticed Sherlock followed his gaze and he even saw the taller man tense. But it was only a second but John caught it all the same, and he couldn't help but figure out there was definatly something wrong. Something was defiantly going on.

 

 "No. Sherlock. Please." Sherlock turned and took the hand, shook it was and went to knock on the door. John took one last look at the opposite side of the street, frowned and the followed Sherlock into 221. 

 

 John did notice the old lady that had offered them in and showed them to the flat up stairs. John was still trying to work out what the blood Hell was going on and why everything seemed that much darker than it really was at that moment. And why the Hell his hand had stopped shaking continuously. 

 

 The day had only just gotten better ... Or weirder. It depended on how John looked at it. John was dragged out on a case, following behind the taller git and into a taxi. The driver kept shifting a look back at the pair of them and John couldn't help but growl softly in his throat. He had no idea where it came from, but it seemed to stop the driver from giving them dirty looks and even Sherlock managed to crack a smirk.

 

 "You have questions." Sherlock had offered then, sounded slightly board by John's point of view. 

 

 "Yes. Where we going?" John asked, looking over Sherlock quickly. The sharp reply had John counting to ten in his head and controlling his breathing. It was either that or he punched the stubborn, idiotic and posh git in the fucking mouth. "Alright. Fine. Who are you? What do you do?" John had asked once he had managed to calm himself.   
  
 "What do you think?" Sherlock looked at him and smirked.  _Idiot._ Flashed straight through John's mind.

 

"I'd say private detective. But the police don't ask for help of private detectives." John wanted to fold his arms but he couldn't, so instead he gripped his cane tighter.   
  
 "I'm a consulting detective. I'm the only one in the world. I invented the job. And I am not an amateur. When I asked you yesterday; Afghanistan or Iraq, you looked surprised." Sherlock was watching John and answering the questions before John even had a chance to ask them.  "I knew because 'I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. The conversation as you entered the room - said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That suggests the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq.' As for your family troubles John ... Hand me your phone," Sherlock hardly paused for a breath and had his hand held out for the phone. John was too speechless to reply, so he gave in and handed the phone over, his eyes filled with awe at the man before him. "Your phone is 'expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches - not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already.' {Sherlock had taken a deeper breath, John was still gob smacked, unable to speak.} 'Harry Watson - clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father - this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara - who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking.'"

John finally found a spot where he could jump in, his heart hammering with something akin to excitement. "'How can you possibly know about the drinking?'" John asked, his eyes flashing over Sherlock's face.

 

"'Shot in the dark. Good one, though.'" Sherlock actually smirked, _smug git._ "'Power connection - tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them.'"

 

John was silent for a moment before pulling out the compliment and taking back his phone. The two men laughed in the back of the cab, John feeling better than he had in months and the observations still swimming around in his mind. Even when Sherlock was bent over the body of a women, drained of most, if not all, of her blood. Her throat had been ripped out and her pink suit was drenched in the deep red of drying blood. John could not understand why he was needed but as he looked the body, Vampire flashed in his mind and he mentally shrugged it off. the voice sounded suspiciously like his father, and he refused to go there. Sherlock was a storm of deductions, explanations and also tense. But he wasn't the only one. The inspector that had came for them earlier looked tense and John couldn't put his finger on why. Again his father's voice whispered in his mind and he growled softly again, bringing forward the attention of both the inspector and Sherlock. John apologised and shifted a little, slightly embarrassed. This isn't the first time his growling and anger had caught the attention of others and he still couldn't understand why he did it.

 

 Before John could think any more on the drained young woman lying dead on the floor, or his father's voice hounding his thoughts a lot more, Sherlock was off, John was left behind and then ... John had been picked up by some idiot with a flair for the dramatics. John sighed as he was driven in the sleek black car towards ... Well he didn't know but there was his father's voice again, whispering at him. It was always one word. Always Vampire and always making him growl slightly. There was more to John Watson than meets the eye and more to John than even he understood himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It kind of ran away from me this one ... Thoughts??


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

Mycroft watched the footage of a certain limping man as he headed out into the main streets. The man on the footage was ordinary, boring and down right normal. Mycroft could not understand the fascination with the young man. He worked quickly with the facial recognition software he held as he watched the invalid and manged to pull up a name. With a name he could dig deeper and take anything he needed. Well, Mycroft didn't of course, his people did. He wasn't one to do the dirty work, he was actually rather busy, making calls that went unanswered. Up until that point when John, on the screen, noticed that the calls were for him. _Finally,_ Mycroft thought, frowning at the young man on his screen.  _Humans can be quite pathetic sometimes, what have you got that others don't?_

 

 "Get into the car Dr Watson." Mycroft calmly spoke into the phone and hung up, just as one of his sleek, black cars had pulled up beside Watson.  He pressed the call button on his intercom, "Get my car ready. I have an appointment to make." He spoke with rough authority. After all, he also had a image to maintain, he didn't want all his workers to think he was going soft in his old age.  

 

***

 

Mycroft had just made it to he meeting point just as John was stepping from the car, and that's when he smell had hit him. Mycroft was quick to school his features, hide his interest, but dear vampious! That smell. It was intoxicating, the danger and the adrenaline that was pumping through the Doctor's veins made his blood sing. It smelt sweet and, quite frankly, delicious. A sin of all sins, but Mycroft refrained himself. There was something else underling that scent. Something foreign, something that Mycroft was sure shouldn't be there. But it was, and he couldn't put his finger on it. It was rather facilitating. Maybe that was why Sherlock seemed to take a liking to the young man. Well, if Sherlock hadn't, Mycroft was sure he would take a taste before leaving him in the dark. 

 

 "What is your association with Sherlock Holmes?" Mycroft asked, using his most threatening posture he could manage. Trying to intimidate the young man. All it did though was make the smell of John's blood increase in its sweetness tenfold. It was astonishing. Where many men would quiver and break down, John stood tall and was relishing in it. The smell of adrenaline and excitement were coming off the small army doctor in waves and it was all Mycroft could do to not pounce on the young man.

 

Then John growled. The human actually growled. It was low in the throat and threatening, and Mycroft couldn't help but look confused. there was defiantly something behind it, something that Mycroft should know but couldn't quite figure out. Something about John Watson that was hidden in the information he hadn't quite read through yet, but he will.  

 

"What's it to you?" John had asked then, his blood singing now. Mycroft shifted against his umbrella, and hid the movement in moving his hand to get his pocket note book. No one had smelt so sinful since Gregory. Well, that's Mycroft's opinion and he will hide that deep within him thank you very much. 

 

 "I could offer you money to spy on Sherlock. To indulge to me some information. nothing that you wouldn't be comfortable sharing of course." Mycroft smirked, his face taking on a slightly more dangerous look. He became more threatening and still John didn't back down. Bravery or stupidity? Mycroft was unsure at that moment. When John had asked why then, Mycroft stood straighter, "Because I worry about him. Constantly. And when one is trying to avoid Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet." That made Mycroft sigh quietly and turn his gaze on the man. "He has a flare for the dramatic, you understand." 

 

 "Thank god you're above all that then." john replied sarcastically and it made Mycroft tense. Not once had he came across a man so stubborn. Well he has, he's met Greg. But still, John is just like Greg. Stubborn, stupid and too loyal. But that's not what his notes say.

 

 "Trust issues. It says here." Mycroft noted. He glanced at the pocket note book he had held in his hand then gave a quick glance back to John Watson. He smirked at the sight of the young doctor shuffling on his feet. It could either be embarrassment or annoyance, one could hardly tell. "Is it that you've decided to trust Sherlock, of all people?" Again John  didn't reply, but Mycroft could smell the fact that John was getting agitated. It made his blood sour, but in a good tasty way. "You've only just met the man and you're solving cases with him and moving in together. Am I to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" 

 

 Mycroft relished in the smell of an agitated John, underlined with a hint of fear. It was enough to make his mouth water slightly. "I am sure people have already told you to stay away from Sherlock Holmes, but I can tell by your left hand that it won't happen. When you walk with Sherlock, Doctor Watson, you see the battle field. And you've already seen it haven't you?" Mycroft will not give the young man time to reply as he stepped forward and reached for John's left hand. His steady left hand. "You therapist thinks that the tremor is due to stress, she says that you are haunted by the war. Fire her. She got it wrong. You are under stress right now and your hand is as steady as a rock. You're not haunted by the war Doctor Watson. You miss it." Mycroft leaned forward, just an inch and whispered lightly, "Welcome back."

 

 Mycroft felt the anger rolling off of John in waves, even as the smaller man stepped back and he heard John breath calmly. Mycroft would reply something but then, John's phone went and everything was over. Mycroft stood up straight and watched John walk away. Once he was out of sight, Mycroft went to his own car and grabbed the files he had there of one Doctor John Watson. As he was driven back to his office, Mycroft's eye brows had risen slightly. There was nothing to understand about John himself, but the Watson family. That was different. There was something in the past that sparked a memory in Mycroft. Something he had never thought he would need to remember at all. It was enough to make his blood run cold. 

 

 Mycroft suddenly understood how he had heard Watson before. It was centuries ago and it was a young woman. A young woman who had fallen into the hands of Mycroft's enemies. A young woman who was the first ... And the last ... Of Baskerville. A young woman who Mycroft was certain had been killed. Obviously not. Obviously she made it out. Obviously she was alive enough to breed, for Mycroft Holmes had just threatened Vivian Watson's great, great, great, great, ... Well how ever many 'greats' there will be. It was still her great Grandson. And within Vivian's blood there was something, something Mycroft couldn't predict, something he couldn't stop. And he was sure it was the same thing in John's veins. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampious ;;; Kind of like ... 'Oh dear Lord!' ... It's made up 
> 
> Erm ... I think we're getting there with John XD


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

 

 John finally made it back to 221B, his head was beginning to ache slightly but not much. He could still ignore it. There was something about that man he had met earlier that day that ... Well, Jon couldn't quite put his finger on it and every time he tried to hard, his head gave a pulse of pain in sympathy. But John ignored it. It's all he could do. After all, the tall lanky git had summoned him. With a sigh, John struggled up the 17 steps into 221B, a growl emitting from his throat. Again. John was beginning to realise that he was doing that a lot more recently, but it was impulse. There was nothing he could do about it. 

 

 "Well? What is it?" John said as he entered the flat, his gaze flickering around quite quickly. He saw that Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, and he also noted .. "Is that three nicotine patches!?" He asked, slightly aghast at the mad man's impossibleness. 

 

 "It's a three patch problem." Sherlock had answered and not once gotten off of the couch when John had walked in. If john was honest with himself, he wouldn't have expected anything less. But considering he had just been cornered by a nosy bastard and was now getting a full load of ignorant Sherlock ... It wasn't doing his headache any favors. "I need your phone." Again, Sherlock didn't look at John, but he did stretch his hand out in waiting. And as always, John gave in with a sigh, placing his phone on the outstretched hand.

 

"I was on the other side of London you know." He replied with a resigned tone as he made his way to the window. "I met a friend of yours." John looked back, wondering if he could get a rise out of the lanky detective who was twiddling with the phone. "Well, enemy really. Arch enemy he said. Do people have arch enemies?"

 

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked, and had finally opened his eyes and was sat up. At least John got a rise out of him them. 

 

"Yes. And no. I didn't take it. Who as he?" John turned and folded his arms, watching Sherlock with a hidden awe that he had always found when working with him. 

 

 "He's the most dangerous man in London and not my problem right now." Sherlock was up and handing John his phone back. Sherlock hadn't even done anything with it and John just watched him, confused. "On the desk is a number and I need you to send these words exactly; 'What happened at Laureston Gardens, I must have blacked out 22 Northumberland Street."'" John tried to catch all that while feeling like the town idiot. 

 

 He turned to watch Sherlock grab something from the kitchen while he took his own seat and placed his phone on the arm of his chair. "Wait .." John's tone had a hint of fear in it, only slightly, but it was still there. "..That's the pink lady's case? Of course it is ... What are  **you** doing with it?" John asked and swallowed loudly. He was sat across the room fro a possible manic murderer.

 

 "Yes, it's her case. Oh, and I should mention, I didn't kill her." Sherlock responded and slouched on his own chair opposite John.

 

 "Do people normally think you are the murderer?" John relaxed a little and leaned back. Somehow, John truly believed those words. There was something about the man opposite him, that made John respect and believe him. His head pounded once suddenly and he flinched, a voice floating nonsense in his head. It was so quick, he missed it. Although, he could be going slightly crazy. He's been having these since he had lost his parents.  _No John, Not here. Not now. Case. Dead lady. Killer to catch. Focus._

 

"Sometimes. But not the point." Sherlock brought John back to reality. "Looking at the case John, what's missing?" Sherlock hissed out. "She was smart, she was clever. She never left without her phone .." Sherlock looked at John, and then to his phone, back at John, then to the case. 

 

 After a few back and forths between the two men, John finally understood. "Wait! I've just texted a murderer!?" John asked just as his phone began to ring. 

 

***

 

"Who do we trust to carry our luggage? Who hunts in the middle of the crowd?" Sherlock spoke hi thoughts out loud as he and John walked along the street. Sherlock was looking for a good restaurant, and quite by chance it was opposite Northumberland Street. He did enjoy Angelo's sometimes. And as long as the smell of rare meat cooking was enough to distract him from John's scent, then the day would be good enough. Catching a killer tonight would be the .. Icing on the cake as it were. 

 

 When john had returned later that night, Sherlock could smell his infuriating and nosy brother, but the adrenaline from the meeting was still singing in John's blood. And there was definitely something underlining the smell. Especially when John growled, that hidden something became more pronounced to Sherlock, but he couldn't get side tracked. Not now. It was why he ran off to find the case alone. He can't afford any distractions, especially on this one. This case was just getting better and better. 

 

 They both made it to Angelo's, past the welcoming committee that was Angelo and were now sitting in a booth that allowed Sherlock to watch the house opposite. The smell of fresh meat filled Sherlock's senses and grounded him somewhat. He could ignore John and his smell and continue to think of this case a little deeper. He was certain Moriarty and Moran were behind this, but how?Thy didn't really like getting their hands dirty, not really. They were not the ones to drain and rip out throats. Well, they could. But why would they go that far in the first place? It was a while before he noticed John was speaking to him.

 

 "So .. People don't have enimies. In real life. they have friends. People they like. People they don't like. Girlfriends?" John was rambling and tucking into a pasta dish when Sherlock finally tuned in.

 

 "Not really my area." Sherlock said, just to say something while he watched.

 

 "Oh. A boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way." John responded. Small talk. That's what people do. It was infuriating. Sherlock turned around and watched John, his face slightly guarded.

 

 "I know it's fine. And no. I don't." Sherlock muttered and returned to his window watching.

 

"Ah, right. So you're unattached. Like me." John was interested in his food at that and Sherlock turned his gaze back to the blushing doctor. It was cute, he had to admit, and the smell had changed once more. How was it that John's smell demanded to be noticed!? Especially when it changed with embarrassment. It was like liquid honey right now and Sherlock was getting distracted again. He had better put a stop to this.

 

 "John... Erm, as flattered as I am about your interest. I consider myself married to my work and ..." Sherlock never finished before John was interrupting him and denying the obvious interest. 

 

 John had returned to his food and Sherlock was back to watching the streets opposite their table again. And then he saw it. A car had stopped outside of the spot, no one getting in and no one getting out. The chase was on and John followed Sherlock out into the street and they were both running off, chasing a moving taxi. Sherlock had never felt more alive, and the smell of John as he chased with him, following every twist and turn in to every street and over the roof tops ... It was like being in his own personal heaven of smells. The adrenaline, the battle field, London and just pure John was filling his nose and urged him on into the night, chasing the cab. 


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, once SIP is over, we will get to the darkness and plot as well as te heart of this story.

Chapter 9

 

 

Back at Baker street, John had never felt so alive. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, even when both he and Sherlock were resting against wall inside the flat, giggling like drunken teenagers. John could feel the rush in his veins and he knew then and there that he would share the flat with the strange man beside him. As long as every day could be as high as that day. 

 

"I'm sorry, but who said I would be taking the bedroom?" John had managed to reply to Sherlock's outburst at Mrs Hudson.  _Even if every day is not going to  as high rushed as today, then living with this man will never be boring. At least I won't  be bored._ John thought to himself as he answered the door while Sherlock had went to see what was bothering Mrs Hudson so badly. 

 

 It was that restaurant owner ... With his cane no less. John couldn't help it, he giggled even more. His leg never gave out, even has the cane had been handed over. His leg never even twinged as he relised what it was that Sherlock had aimed to do that night. John's psychosomatic limp was gone and John grinned like a school idiot. That was until he heard a bump from upstairs and he rushed to the flat, only just managing to shut the front door.  

 

"It's a drugs bust." John had heard the DI inform Sherlock as he entered the room. John couldn't believe his ears at first.

 

 "Drugs? Sherlock?" He had scoffed in reply. "Have you met the guy?" In John's mind, Sherlock was a super genius, there was no way he would destroy his mind over something stupid like drugs. Plus, he had enough with dealing with addicts to last him a fucking lifetime, and his father would still whisper in his head every now and then. Always had done since the day he had lost them both ...  _NO! ..._

 

"John. Shut up." Sherlock hissed into his ear, bringing him back to reality with a jump.

 

 "No? Seriously. You?" John whispered back. He couldn't understand why Sherlock would do that. The only thing he could think of was that Sherlock was once an addict of sorts. But drugs? John couldn't see it. 

 

"What? No! I don't even smoke! I'm clean!" Sherlock gritted out, mostly to Lestrade, but John did not miss the undertone and a look that was shared between to the two men. "You'll not find anything." John may not be as observant as Sherlock but he was sure there was something between the two men at that point, but before he could think about it even further, before he could listen to the voice in his head, a women came out of the kitchen with a glass jar full of eyes.

 

"Put those back! It's an experiment!" Sherlock growled out,turning a death glare towards the woman with curly hair. John recognised her as Sally, the one that was sleeping with the weasel faced Anderson. And yes, he was here to. John watched Sherlock closely, very closely, and he saw something that shocked him a little. Sherlock's eyes had a tinge of red in them; _Vampire, John, he's a Vampire. They are real. Just listen. Remember_ , whispered the voice in John's head. Before he could do anything about it, everything was moving quickly and John was beginning to get a headache. 

 

 As soon as John had a job to do, a job that involved using all his attention and focus, he forgot about everything. He didn't even realise that everyone had stared at him for a second. He had growled softly and flinched at the pain in his head and he didn't even notice. But everyone was throwing themselves into the job at hand, especially Sherlock, who had to run outside for fresh air. It wasn't until the police left a moment later that John realised that Sherlock had left. Again. John was so angry his heart pounded in his chest and he growled out loud to the empty room. He knew now that the cab driver was obviously the killer, and Sherlock had ran off with him.  _Fucking idiot! I'll strangle him!_ John thought, his anger so pure so suddenly that he grabbed his laptop and went out to fetch his own taxi and followed the GPS on the pink phone. 

 

-

 

Of course john would pick the wrong fucking building!! "You fucking idiot! You stupid, cock! You fucking ...!!" John stopped suddenly at what he saw in the building opposite him. He could see Sherlock and he thought he could see the sharper canines, the glowing red eyes, and in his hand, Sherlock held a pill. John's breath had stopped and he stood straight. Every thing surrounding him did not exist as he held his focus on the one thing he could see. the one thing he thought he would never see. He thought that night, he was seeing things. But, as he watched, he saw that Sherlock waas the dark figure he had seen in the ally way. he was the dark figure that ignited the sudden urge to research on vampires. He was the dark figure that had John's heart hammering in his chest. And now that said man was going to take a fucking pill to what? End his fucking life. 

 

"SHERLOCK!!" In that one yell John's mind burst with pain, his hand rose and he fired an impossible shit, hitting the cab driver from an impossible distance and then John fled. His heart hammering feeling like it will burst. God he needed to fucking sleep. But not without Sherlock.

 

everything swam out of focus as John waited, he was sure Sherlock was talking. John was replying but he couldn't figure out what was going on. Then he met Sherlock's brother, the man that had him kidnapped. Everything was blurring together, time dod not matter anymore. John just needed to fucking sleep of this headache.

 

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked as they walked away.

 

 "Just tired. Can we go home?" John mumbled, his body drooping as they walked.

"Sure" Sherlock replied. John could hear the smugness in his tone. 

 

_vampire. John, they exist. You have to remember her. Understand the stories. John .. John.. Remember_


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

Back at baker Street, Sherlock could reflect on the night. He voluntarily went with the cabbie if only to understand what his motives where. What he found out though was something that had made him so furious that he couldn't help but reveal the vampire in him.

 

**_"They have arisen Sherlock. Your fan and his army. They will take this world by force and there is nothing you or your brother can do to stop him. Nothing_."The cabbie had snarled and showed his teeth. Sharp and vampiric. The cabbie had been turned and Sherlock was furious. **

 

**_"You're dying. The process hasn't even stuck with you. Those people you have mauled and left drained is proof of how unstable you are._ " Sherlock hissed at him, holding the so called pill in between his fingers. The pill that would release a poison so deadly into his blood stream or it would, supposedly, turn a human into a vampire. For a while. Seeing the cabbie and knowing how many people he had left in his wake just showed how unstable the pill was. There was so many lose ends, son many missing people, so many unanswered questions. But before Sherlock could even think further, the cabbie was shot dead with a silver bullet. **

 

Sherlock returned somewhat to Baker Street with a glare at what had caused him to return to the land of the conscious. John had retired when they returned, obviously drained and an apparent headache, something that Sherlock should focus on later. but alas, it was not going to happen. for what brought him out of his reflections was his brother. his brother who had made himself at home in John's chair the pompous git. But the gaze that Mycroft pinned him with showed Sherlock that there was something important going on and Sherlock should grow up and listen. he didn't like it but he would grin and bear it.

 

"Sherlock, glad to have you back brother dear." Mycroft began, his smugness had made Sherlock growl dangerously.

 

"Get on with it Mycroft." He hissed, his hands resting beneath his chin in a prayer like motion.

 

Mycroft then handed over a thick file, the thickest Sherlock had ever seen on the man. "John's file. Everything there is to know about him." Mycroft paused and cleared his throat. "And his ancestors. Surly you have noticed something different about the Army Doctor, Sherlock. This file clears everything up completely. Almost. Read it, then have him call me. There is more to go through once the information has been processed." With that, Mycroft left. He didn't hang around, he didn't need to, Sherlock's curiosity had been spiked and his gaze rested on the file that he was given. 

 

carefully, as though he didn't want the pages to rip in his hands, Sherlock read and drank in everything that made John H Watson, the man he was. 

 

-

 

Upstairs, in the spare room, John groaned and twisted in his sleep. His breathing was erratic, sweat dripped from his brow and growls and hisses escaped the man's lips as he slept. And dreamed. And remembered.

 

***

 

_The young woman with the golden hair was outcasted by her village. She was deemed a crazy witch and no one wanted anything to do with her. yes she had some uncanny abilities in her blood and she was able to focus those to suit her needs. For instance, her aim was far better than anyone's she had come across, she could read a person's background in their clothing and their stance, she could understand when danger was close and she could create a brew worthy of the gods. That was what they whispered among themselves, but people where scared to go to her. She could heal ailments that littered the village but once that was done, they shunned her once more. Terrified of the unknown. that was why she ran. She ran and never looked back, slipping through an open door and into a foggy fueled town. So much noise. So many people. She was scared and she was lost. She met a man with dark hair, as black as the night that filled around her. Eveline Watson she was called and she went with the stranger. She didn't trust him, she couldn't. All of her instincts and abilities told her to run the other way. But when he showed her his true form it was too late. Eveline was taken._

 

_She was experimented on. Her abilities pushed to braking point. The vampire who had her wanted her to be perfect. Wanted her to be just right for his needs. But at that moment, he kept saying her blood was too sweet. It wasn't enough. He injected her with his own. it almost killed her. She turned to a vampire only the once before her abilities fought of what she had deemed a disease. She would not let this Moriarty bring this among the people of her new world. So she ran again. she fought off the guards, cast a mindless spell upon them and she ran._

 

_Where she ran to she did not know, nor did she understand. But her instincts took her straight to yet another vampire. But this man was different. He was fueled by anger, revenge and patience. Mycroft he was called and she told him everything. Her name, where she was from and what she was. She told him to forget her after that. Forget she ever existed. She was good at that. Eveline placed a kiss to his head and Mycroft slept and Eveline lived her life. She swore that this disease inside her would not do any harm. No. It will fester, it will build and once it is needed, it will become the best weapon this world has ever seen. Eveline knew that it would need all the help it can get in a time to come. For she knew Moriarty had a sample of her and he would keep it until he needed it. But he would not understand it. Even as the weapon in her blood grew to create a family, Moriarty would not know._   
  
_As generations passed, every parent told their children this story, always telling their child that one day, one child will grow up to be the most important man Earth has ever needed. Each child was tested for the anomalies in their blood but non showed. Not until John H Watson was born. The last in the line of Watson. As tradition, they were told the story of Eveline, the lost witch and the vampire that held her hostage. John loved the story but then forgot. He had a doctor's appointment with needles and tests. And then he forgot. His parents drove him there. And then he forgot. The car crashed off the road and John lost his parents. And then he forgot._

 

Until he woke up panting and screaming in agony, his head fit to burst as everything came flooding back. And John H Watson remembered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun. Dun. Dunnnnnn


	12. AUTHOR'S NOTES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! <3

Here's the thing; or rather, a few things:

1; I haven't forgotten this. Don't panic. I have ideas and chapters sorted but as you'll see in a moment, life's been ... Hectic. But in a good way. I just need you all to know that I am very much into this story and I'll get back to it as soon as I am able. 

2; I have no internet access. My main point for access (My Mum's) has been cut off because her internet provider is a wank shafting idiot. 

3; I'm moving shortly (Thank goodness!! Can't wait, so excited!!) So my PC has been boxed up so now I don't have access to type. 

4; I have a new job! (Yes!!) So times will vary once I'm back on line but this will be completed!! When I'm back I will reward you for waiting. 

5; now reading all that you're probably thinking, "How did you get this chapter up?" Well, to answer that, I've finally managed to get my phone fixed, so I'm using mobile internet. However!! It's only a Blackberry so even getting this typed on my phone is making my hands ache and cramp up. I would do mobile uploading but I can't retype via my mobile, or copy from email (no internet access). 

.. So yeah, in all, please bare with me and thank you for being kind and patient. Love you my beautiful readers!! ...


	13. AUTHOR'S NOTE - AN UPDATE

Everything is working well, have an internet connection but I've been so busy lately I haven't had time to update. But I will. As soon as I have a spare hour or two and I will get this finished. I promise. 

Please stay with me and thank you for you patience xxxx


	14. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost everything on my PC *CRIES*
> 
> However, I have re-written this chapter tonight and present it to you.
> 
> Because I have lost my work, this is now a WIP and due to my job it will require slow updates. Hopefully I get a better job and I will be back in the right mind set to update quicker, but for now the job I have is sucking everything out of me. 
> 
> I beg for patience and I hope you stay with me xxxxx

Chapter 11

 

John rushed down the stairs, almost stumbling in his revelation. His night clothes stuck to him with sweat, his breaths coming too quick to handle, he was close to blacking out. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. The pain. The anger. The ... Everything. It was all just too much for him to handle.

 

He kept shouting at himself to calm the fuck down. He was a soldier for God’s sake! But it didn’t work. He burst in on Sherlock, slouched in his chair, the folder on his lap. John’s breathes were harsh and fast, his eyes were becoming unfocused and his whole body shook.

 

“I ... I .. I ... Remember.” He managed to stutter before collapsing into the darkness. He was too far gone to notice the quick speed in which Sherlock reached him to prevent the Doctor from hitting the floor at an ungodly angle.

***

Sherlock held his breath as he came to the end of the folder. He understood now why John smelt so good, why he was different and why there was always something he couldn’t put his finger on. Ever since he met the men he had felt it and he also knew that something was happening with John. The power within him that made him smell good enough to eat was awakening. And by the sounds of the scream from upstairs, the power had awoken with a force that was unheard of, even for his own kind.

 

Sherlock listened to John stumble, listened to the harsh breathing and he waited. He couldn’t do anything but wait. He heard John stutter and saw that he would fall. Before he could hit the floor, Sherlock rushed to his aid and held him with ease.  Sherlock couldn’t resist it, he had to sniff at the pulse point. And he almost wished he hadn’t.

 

The magic, the blood of the enemy, John’s own unique make up, swimming in the veins; it was heaven to Sherlock. It took every ounce of his self control not to bite down. He sighed deeply, tasting the smell alone before placing his best friend on the couch and covered him with the blanket he kept behind the couch.

 

Sherlock knew John will be out of it for a while, the process was taking him and it will be stronger than anything he had ever witnessed. From what he read, Vampire and wizard blood was within John and now it was attacking the DNA make-up. Well. No. The dormant part of John was awakening. He was turning, not only into a vampire, but with the magic his ancestor had left him.

 

Sherlock himself remembered the rumors, the night time stories of wizards and witches. He knew of the tale. He could remember his mother telling him it every night as he slept. It made him ache for her voice as he watched John carefully, listening to his heart, his veins humming as his mind drifted back to the days he could hold his mother.

***

_“My child. There was a time when magic was alive in these parts.” Sherlock heard his mother whisper gently to him as he rested in his bed. He was excited for the story, no matter how many times he heard the tale, he loved it. “Men and women with the ability to bend the elements to their will were around almost every corner. They were kind people, always happy to lend a hand. Using their gifts to heal, to mend the Earth during the hard winters and the driest summers. They would make their potions for any illness, and prevent their villages from impending doom. They can tell what you did just by how you stood. They could sense who was truthful and who was not just by the light that surrounded them.”_

_Sherlock’s mother shifted in the chair beside his bed, her beautiful black hair tied neatly into a braid and she sent her son a sad smile. He knew what came next._

_“Then along came the unknown. A gate was opened and terror fled in. They took control of the villages with force; those that fought back were doomed to perish. The wizards and witches of our world could do nothing against such evil and the survivors became shunned. They could not protect the land, therefore they were not protected. They were told that it was their fault that such an evil erupted, and soon those beautiful people and their magic died out. With them gone, the evil relinquished its grip and disappeared back into the gate, closing it behind them.”_

_Sherlock shuddered; he hated that part of the story. Why would they shun those that had tried, those that had fought to keep the land secure? To keep it safe? He knew that whatever came through the open door came for those that held the magic. But still, should that be enough to shun, to kill, to deny those that had helped in the past?_

_“But the story does not end there as you know.” His mother continued. “There are rumors that a few survived and hid what they were. Mingled with the normal people of this world and bred Halflings. Halflings as you know posses magic in such a way that is undetectable, and the door remains closed. But they are out there, living among us and still fighting for us, even though they were wrongly treated. Many centuries have past and that door remains closed, the witches and wizards and their Halflings all remain hidden. They live in peace among us. We do right by them and they will protect us.”_

_Sherlock looked up then with a sad smile, “You know as well as I do that the darkness will return and it didn’t come for those that are different. It must have come to weaken us so it can return to destroy us. Now that we have no protection we are weaker and they are stronger. It will return to doom us all.”_

_“Yes, I believe so my child. That is why we have your brother and your father working hard to protect us.” Sherlock’s mother leaned over to kiss her child on the head as he stretched, still fighting a sleep she knew will claim him. Even vampires needed to rest, especially growing younglings._

_“But when? That's the question, mother.” Sherlock whispered back, before closing his eyes._

_“When indeed.” His mother whispered as she left the room, a horrible feeling churning in her stomach. She hoped that her oldest boys can manage Sherlock. She knew that she may not make it, being as weak as she is now. A terrible illness infected her, a one she will never disclose to her children._

_\--_

_The door re-opened 20 years after that night, consuming everything in its path. That night Eveline ran through the gate, following the two shadows, one dragging another through against his wishes._

_***_

Sherlock came back to reality with a snap. He had never looked back on that night before. The night the door opened and everything had been taken from him. He had never noticed the blonde woman following. Until now, and now he saw the making of her, passed out on his sofa.


	15. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but you know ... There's tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys!! <3

Chapter 12

 

 

Sherlock paced the length of living room while John was out of it on the couch, his mind was racing, picking out everything from the night he lost everything. He knew Mycroft saved him that day against his own wishes. His life mate was lost, he was struggling, looking back and panicking. All he knew was Mycroft was following the traitors and Sherlock was going into shock. he saw his world burn. Mycroft never had that curse. He had the curse in watching as both Moriarty and Moran vanished and Sherlock collapsed into a state of despair. The wonder of heroin and cocaine mixed in the blood of humans. It was a delight. Made him forget everything. 

 

Looking back at the awakened memories, Sherlock now knew it was stupid of him. Sentiment! But he shall never make that mistake again. Now. Back to unlock the horrors of that night. Locking down all emotions, Sherlock flicked through his memories of night, looking on as only an observer not a participant. While pacing the room, Sherlock was locked inside his head, viewing the memory like a film he can slow down, pause, rewind and forward. Sometimes removing the background to get a clearer view.

 

***

_The city; His city, never changed every time he viewed it in his dreams. It was beautiful. Although the beauty was now hidden behind layers of smoke and fire. Sherlock was remembering the feel of the heat against his face. Sherlock, the observer, paused the image and made sure he remained scientific, logical and cut off from every emotion. It would not do to break his resolve. He needed to know how and when Eveline ran. He knew why. He needed to know how. The door automatically locked as soon as he and his brother slipped through. Even they were bloody damn well lucky._

 

_Sherlock sighed and swallowed deeply, forcing himself to lock onto the scene in front of him. He needed to focus. There! Right behind the coat tails of his brother and himself was a woman with blond hair, running behind them, frozen in his memory. She was average, panic and worry etched her frozen features as Sherlock The Observer got closer. He gasped softly, her eyes were that of John's. So gentle, wise and very blue. Ice chipped behind white and covered with black wholes. They were all knowing and glowed with hidden secrets. The fear frozen on those features were what etched in his mind from John when he stumbled down the stairs._

 

_Shaking his head and stepping back he watched the memory enfold slowly. He watched as she gained on himself and his brother. Sherlock refused to look at himself as he followed. He did not want to see. He remembered the feeling well and he did not want to get lost in that again._

 

_With a heavy heart, he followed the memory onto the otherside, the gate way locking behind the three of them. Sherlock The Observer looked shocked. A hidden, or rather a locked memory. He focused as hard as he could, refusing to let this memory slip from. His heart tippled in speed and sweat lined his brow on the outside, but inside his mind he doubled his focus._

 

_He watched and let the memory play on in real time, never letting grip no matter how hard his instincts were telling him not to. His body and mind where telling him that now was not the time. But he ignored it. He needed to know!_

 

_The blonde woman with John's eyes stepped up to the vampires and she looked at each in turn, her breathing under control as the younger vampire almost collapsed against his brother. Both pairs of eyes looked at the young woman with wide eyes. Mycroft for a reason of his own but Sherlock wouldn't know. He knew his own reasons. He thought every one was gone. He knew everyone was gone. His home. His world. His mate._

 

_"How .. How did you make it through? There was barely enough room for us two to get through." Mycroft hissed quietly, holding the shaking Sherlock up as best as he could. "What are you?"_

 

_The woman with blonde hair stepped forward, her eyes shinning a deeper blue as she took in the men before her. She whispered softly, locking eyes with Mycroft. "We'll meet again. You'll know then. Depending if I manage to escape my path, depends on when we meet." Her voice washed over them and Sherlock The Observer gasped. He remembered the strange calm that washed around him that night. He remembered Mycroft slipping and he watched he saw them both float to the floor._

 

_"Witch?" Mycroft whispered his body relaxing as the woman with blonde hair stepped right into their personal spaces. "Shh." She whispered to Mycroft and closed his eyes. She then focsed on Sherlock, slumped and weak. In pain and depressed. She groaned in agony at the sight before her. Sherlock The Observer gulped and focused. Listening intently._

 

_"You are so alone. But you won't be. You'll find him. Unlock him. Train him. Save him. He'll need you. He needs to breath a last breath before he will be strong enough to fight. Let him go. But don't wait to long. Let him breath his last. He needs you. As much as you need him. Don't be afraid. You'll remember in time. For now, sleep and I'll soften the memories. But, I can't erase what you saw, only block that of myself." She touched his cheek lightly. "I chose you to be his guide, his light, his wisdom. He will be the heart you have lost today. Let him breath his last and forget me for now. Sleep young Vamp. You'll remember when the time is right."_

_And she off into the night. Sherlock The observer was gasping for air and he let the words wash around him. He flickered through them as they floated in white above him. His eyes furrowed. 'Breath his last' was flashing in neon white, taking most of his attention. His focus on the memory began to slip as a strange smell hit his nose. Sweet turning sour. "JOHN!"_

 

_***_

 

John was in so much pain. Even blacked out and in darkness, he was swallowed in pain. His veins were awash with it. He couldn't breath. He couldn't fight it. Flashes of light and whispered words were swimming around him in his unconscious fight. Too quiet for him to grasp. John was slipping. John was aching. John couldn't breath. 

 

Then John felt nothing.

 

***

 

"JOHN!" Sherlock roared as he came out of his mind with a stumble and turned to face his best friend lying on the couch. Sherlock tripped over himself to get to him, landing on his knees beside the blond man. Sherlock gripped John's hand and looked him over. The shorter man was twisting and turning, groaning in pain as the power washed through him all too quickly. John's breathing was too fast now, sweat was dripping off of his fringe. Sherlock began to panic, focusing on John and disregarding his memory.

 

"JOHN! COME ON!" Sherlock held on tight and tried to shove John awake. John's sweet blood began to smell sour, like it was rotting, dying. "NO!!" Sherlock roared and all he could do was watch as John's body stiffened, his back arching off the couch in pain, his hand crushing Sherlock's as his body went into a fit.

 

Then he was still. His chest didn't move. His heart didn't beat. His blood was slowly turning sour, slowly stopping in the veins. Sherlock looked him over with wide panic eyes, his own breathing verging on hyperventilation. His vision only focused on John. His John. Unmoving. Not breathing. His heart stopped. John had breathed his last, on the couch, his body relaxed, and Sherlock released a vicious roar of anger, pain, confusion and grief.

 

His best friend; Doctor John H Watson, Captainof the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers; survived a vicious shot to the left shoulder, his best friend, his only friend, his focus and his light ... Was lying dead on the couch.

 

 

 


	16. chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we will be with John and Sherlock shortly.
> 
> But first ...

"Well, well, well." The seemingly young man whispered, a devil's smirk playing against his lips as he read the file in his hands twice over. "It's always the quiet ones you have to watch."

 

"Sir?" The young female questioned, standing at parade rest, hands held tightly at the base of her spine.

 

"I've just got some new information about our past experiments. It seems that they have come back to bite us in the arse my dear." He wasn't as upset as the other male had thought he would be. Infact, the man in the suit seemed ... Excited. And that hardly boaded well for the least important in the room at that time.

 

The young human male, who had been payed to watch for red flags in any and every system stood to the side, trying to hide himself as much as possible. He did his job right? He glanced a look to the second in comand, a female no less, but her attention was on  the Boss.

When he had started work this morning, he was expecting to see nothing. Well, rather hoping he saw nothing. That was until the data flashed on his screen with red lighting.Most of the flagged words came under on document that had been sealed and protected by the government for so long, it was only now that it's defences were broken. The young man knew nothing of how it came to be, or even why now. All he knew was that he had to print it, file it, log it and bring it to the boss. Whatever was in that file, made the Boss happy. Extactic. Dangerous.

 

"Sir?" The female promted again, inching forward and raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Care to fill me in on this little snipet?"

 

only she would dare speak to the Boss in such a way. Her voice was like silk, drifting over the tensionn in the room. It made the human shiver slightly and the urdge to run greatly intensified. But he knew he coould not. Not until he was excused by either the female or the Boss. He wasn't on first name terms, he was barely on the foundation of what they had built between them, so names were not given or welcomed. If he dared to run, to speak or to even breath too loudly, it would not end well for him. It would be pain. Lots of pain, and a fate worse than death.

 

"Oh Lavinder, my darling." The Boss looked over to her, his voice smooth and almost like he was singing a tune. His eyes glistened with a darkness that should never exist. Not even in the pits of Hell should a darkness exist. But in the Boss's eyes, it does. "You should take note of this .." He held out the file and waited for his second in comand had taken it .."And tell me what you think." It seemed that they had forgotten the young human, shaking in the background, trying to inch away so very slowly.

 

It was a while before anyone spoke. The Boss watched his second in comand read the file with a smile etched on his face. His hands steepled beneath his chin as he waited for the reaction. He knew it would be a good one. His minion had done well, he deserved a reward, but he knew how excited he was. He couldn't stop his fangs from lowering as he sniffed the human's fear in the air. He sighed, his mouth watering slowly. It was heaven. At least the reward will be quick, painless and somewhat enjoyable for all.

 

"Oh for fucking fucks sake!" Lavinder beled out and slammed the file against the desk with a thump. Her pupils had dilated slightly and the same darkness reflected in her owns eyes for a second. "This has to be some kind of joke right? He's a fucking short arsed, pathetic broken fucking tool!" She practically growled. "How on this Earth can you even find this as good news? it's a fake! it's unthinkable! It's .."

 

"Holmes." The Boss muttered, waiting for his other to calm and think. Really think and catch up with his own sharp and quick thinking. And there it was. The spark in her eyes as she slowly gathered everything together in her little mind.

 

"Oh." Was all she said, her breathing hitching lightly as her eyes glazed and she licked her lips.

 

"Of course." The Boss whicpered as he stood slowly, moving to stand by his most trusted companion. "This will be so much fun. Don't you think my dear?" With that, he grasped one hand around her waist and pulled her into a crushing embrace, his lips feirce against her own for barley a second. "Our friend has done well. He deserves some pleasure I should think. And I am so very hungry." He licked at Lavinder's neck before sharply stepping back, releasing Lavinder and stepping towards the shaking and terrified human in the office.

 

"Thank you for all your hard work." He stepped closer, his eyes locked onto the humans. The male was transfixed, he couldn't move, and what was wiered was that he wasn't scared anymore. He felt drunk, light and .. Well, he felt hapy. He sighed and swayed lightly, a goofy smile came onto the man's face and his eyes shifted out of focus like he was drugged and drunk all at the same time.

 

The vampire's stare can have that effect when done correctly. Or forcfully. Eithr way, human's were weak  compared to the Boss and Lavinder. It was easy tapping into the brain and setting off the pleasure process in their silly little bodies. It made for an easy meal. One with less mess.

 

Moriarty did like this office after all.

***

 

After the excitement and their meal, both Lavinder and Moriarty sighed softly. It was Lavinder that spoke first.

"Now what?"

 

"Now .." Replied Moriarty. "Now we play with the Vampire nd his solder."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this has taken an age to update, but life has a funny way of kicking you when you're down.

Sherlock was pacing in front of the couch, his hands gripping at his hair painfully. He would never admit it out loud, but he was actually crying. He didn't make a sound, but he had just lost his best friend. 

 

"How is it possible!? He's a gifted being! He's ... He's got vampire within his DNA ass well! How can he die! HE SHOULD BE IMMORTAL!" The last words were given with a painful shout, his foot connecting with the table is his fury. It was happening again, Sherlock was losing everything he had held most dear.  

 

_"Sherlock, you know what is happening as much as anyone else does. You just have to think."_ A calm, female voice interrupted Sherlock's rage, " _If you wait too long, he'll be gone. You know that. Just remember and you'll know what to do._ "

 

Sherlock turned towards the voice, and there she stood, a faded image of the woman that ran. The woman that had started everything. The woman that plagued his dreams more often than not. The woman who was, in some way, the making of John.

 

"I don't understand! What's happening!? How the hell am I suppose to fix this!? And how long have I got!?" Sherlock was frantic, but his pacing stopped, his face going blank in a second. "How are you even here?" His voice and grown soft, gentle. Almost like he was in awe of the woman that stood before him. 

 

 

" _I am apart of you. I'm the part of you that you keep hidden. The part that cares. The part that has the information buried deep because you are scared. You have a choice Sherlock. You know what's happening to him, you need to face it. Let your emotions guide you, not your logic._ " _  
_

 

"Impossible! I'm having an emotional break down already if my Mind Palace is projecting its images into the real world. I'm hallucinating."

 

 

" _Just stop thinking logical and let me help you, you idiot!_ " She yelled, her arms crossing against her chest as she took a look at John. " _You don't have long. Just breath deep and tell me what is happening. Tell me how you are going to save him. You know what to do, you just need to let yourself go. become a little more human._ "

 

 

Sherlock did as she asked. He took a deep breath and calmed his shaking hands. He moved to kneel beside the couch were his friend lay and looked at him. He let the emotions guide him, something he has never done before. It was a weird and somewhat frightful situation. He was not used to feeling all these things at once. Fear. Dread. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Denial. Understanding. Love. _  
_

 

Then it hit him. He knew what he had to do. But ... At what cost?

 

"Moriarty." He whispered. "He poisoned you. A vampire is not meant to have such a black heart as he does. We are not creatures of the darkness and our hearts are not fit for it. Moriarty has blackened his own heart, poisoned his own blood to survive. That poison runs in your veins, which now runs in John's. It's killing him. But it could kill me. Instantly or over a longer period of time. Or it could change me and blacken my own heart and make me the predator that Moriarty is himself. The predator that human's think we are. That's the choice. Drain John of the poisoned blood, infect him with my own and, effectively taking the poison into myself."

 

" _There we go. But it might not kill you or change you at all. And really ... Is there any choice you would not take?_ "

 

 

And Sherlock knew she was right. Of course she was. There was no choice. He was not Sherlock without his John. He leaned over and without hesitation, sunk his fangs into John's neck, letting the blood seep into his mouth. The second it hit his tongue, he pulled away. It was a reflex, it tasted like tar. Sour and bitter. It made him gag like never before. He's never tasted anything so vile and it did not sit right. His John had smelled so edible, so sweet and so delicious, the taste is the complete opposite.

 

 

" _Remember Sherlock, the poison taints his blood. You'll know when to stop, just hope you have the ability to do so._ "

 

 

Sherlock groaned and went back, leaned in and latched onto the skin once more, sucking and swallowing with abandon. It sat heavily in his stomach and made him feel sick, but he refused to stop. If she was right, then he should know when to stop, and it is not yet. Not until the sweetness hit his tongue and slipped down his throat a little over two minuets later. It was the best thing he had ever tasted and it made the stone of the bitterness sit a little better. This. This was the taste of John, and it was absolute heaven!

 

 

" _STOP!!_ " The female screeched and rushed toward Sherlock, frightening him to release John, his saliva doing its job again, healing the wound at John's neck and the bleed stopped. Sherlock gasped and fell back against the table in his fright. Evangeline had gone and Sherlock was panting, sweating, his stomach cramping and his chest aching. His heart thudding too fast against his rib cage. But what grasped his attention more than anything had before, was the sound of John gasping painfully on the sofa, his head turning to face Sherlock.

 

And that's the last thing Sherlock saw that night. The last thing he heard was John shouting his name as his world went black.


End file.
